


Different Ways of Caring

by 42hrb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feelings, Jackson cooks, M/M, POV Stiles, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/42hrb/pseuds/42hrb
Summary: Stiles gets a little caught up when he's on a writing tear, good thing he's got friends like Jackson who stop over to make sure he's eating and taking care of himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/gifts).



> Prompt- Stackson: I’m a writer and when it gets close to my deadlines I neglect taking care of myself so you’ll pop in my house every so often to make sure I’m doing okay’ AU - Writer!Stiles

Stiles wasn’t quite sure what day it was. It might have been Tuesday, or maybe it was Thursday, but that didn’t matter; he had managed to write 100 pages of his novel and his editor could finally get off his back. It wasn’t like he had been  _ that _ far behind his deadline, only a few weeks. He wasn’t pulling a George R.R. Martin or anything. 

He only had one chapter left to write, and he knew that Lydia would be glad that he had  finally finished the fifth book in his series. She would be happier if he would finish the entire series, but there were two more books after this one, so she’d have to wait. 

The thing was, Stiles knew he would take a break. He knew that he should get up and  stretch, maybe go outside, but he was on a roll; he could stretch when the words stopped flowing. Right now, he needed to wrap up the current time travel adventure and set up the cliffhanger for the next one. That was his thing, cliffhangers at the end of his books, well, that and time-traveling werewolves. 

“Get up Stiles,” a voice said, cutting through Stiles’ writing music (the score from The Dark Night). “Now.”

Stiles turned his head and felt the muscles in his neck resist the movement. “Lovely to see you too, Jacky. Thanks for stopping by, but I’m a little busy.”

“Lydia hasn’t heard from you in five days,” Jackson said, making sure Stiles work was saved on his laptop before he shut it. “Five days, Stilinski, that’s a long time.”

“My phone’s somewhere,” Stiles stood up and stretched, his back popping as he did. “And she should be glad, I’m a few hours away from having a finished first draft.”

“What day is it, Stiles?” Jackson asked, running his hand over his face - a motion that Stiles was used to by now. It was a motion that told Stiles he was being an idiot and that Jackson was actually worried about him.

“Tuesday?” Stiles said, voice going higher at the end of the word. “Maybe Wednesday.”

“It’s Friday, Stiles,” Jackson said with a sigh. “When was the last time you showered? Or ate? Or left the house?”

“That is a good question,” Stiles said, stretching his arms above his head. He felt his muscles strain as he did. He had been working on his pages since Sunday afternoon when Lydia had called him to remind (read: yell at) him that he had a deadline coming up. Jackson gave him a bitchface, which is to say his normal face. “I haven’t left the house since Sunday.”

“Oh, Christ,” Jackson said. “I brought food.”

“Pizza?”

“Grilled chicken, a smoothie, and wild rice,” Jackson said with an eyeroll. Stiles groaned; he forgot that Jackson was on a health kick that he forced onto everyone around him. If Jackson couldn’t have pizza, no one could. 

“But I want pizza,” Stiles said, standing in the doorway of his office as Jackson walked toward the kitchen. He always enjoyed watching Jackson walk away, even if he’d never admit it outloud. Jackson already thought he was hot; he didn’t need Stiles to feed his ego.

“You’ll get pizza when you stop going on 5-day-long writing benders where you actually forget to eat and bathe yourself.”

“I’ve been eating! I showered!” Stiles said, looking back at the office where there were empty bags of chips and a few discarded Chinese take out containers. He sniffed himself. “Maybe I could use a shower.”

“Several showers,” Jackson said. “Now, come eat.”

Stiles grudgingly walked to the kitchen with Jackson. “Did you  _ cook _ ?”

“Shut up and eat, Stiles,” Jackson grumbled, pushing a plate of still-hot chicken toward him. “Now.”

He did as he was told. Usually he’d put up a fuss, because it’s Jackson and he knows exactly how to push his buttons (it’s one of the perks of having known someone since childhood), but as soon as he smelled the chicken, the sass died on his tongue.  

When he thought about it, he probably hadn’t eaten at all that day, and the last thing he had eaten was definately an entire sleeve of Oreos. The chicken was moist and seasoned just the way Stiles liked it, which is to say a little spicy. “Are you going to chew it or inhale it?”

“I chewed,” Stiles said through a mouthful of the wild rice. “You could be a chef.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, but Stiles saw his cheeks flush as he spoke. “Shut up.”

“And you cooked this for me! Be careful, Jackson, or people will start to think you actually care,” Stiles said, taking a sip of the smoothie that Jackson had pushed in front of him. He had to bite back a moan, it was the best smoothie he had ever tasted.

“Who said I don’t care about you?” Jackson muttered and Stiles looked at him, eyes wide. “I come over  _ every _ time you go on one of these writing binges, I have a key to your house, and Lydia calls me when she hasn’t heard from you. Don’t act like I don’t care about you, Stilinski.”

Stiles just stared at him. Coming out of Jackson’s mouth, that was practically saying ‘I love you’. Not that Stiles would complain if Jackson did say that, but he hadn’t thought that he did. They had reconnected when they ran into each other in college, bonding over werewolf shenanigans and having Lydia as an ex, and became friends, though neither of them would have admitted it at the time.

Ever since their freshman year, Stiles had been harboring an unrequited crush, but after five years he figured it would always be that: unrequited. “Jackson, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jackson said, but he wouldn’t meet Stiles eyes. He knew that Jackson could hear his heart racing, but if he had to guess, Jackson’s was beating just as fast. 

“You care about me,” Stiles said slowly, letting the words sit in the quiet of the kitchen.

“I already said that,” Jackson said, looking at him finally. “Don’t make me spell it out; we both know that if I do, I won’t be able to come back for at least two months and then who would come take care of you when you’re on a writing bender?”

The thing about Jackson was that he had actually grown a lot since high school; sure, he was still an asshole 98% of the time, but he was a lot like Stiles, too. He cared incredibly deeply about his friends, he would do anything for them, and he didn’t get feelings for people often, but when he did, they ran deep. 

Part of the reason they got along so well was that they were both men that had been broken when they were still boys. They had been put back together, but some of the pieces hadn’t been salvageable. Jackson knew where all of Stiles missing pieces were, he knew about all the bad things, and he still came over to make sure Stiles was eating. He sat on the couch with him until the sun came up on nights when the nightmares kept him awake, and Stiles did the same.

“Jackson,” Stiles said, reaching up slowly so that Jackson could see what he was doing. When he didn’t move, Stiles cupped his cheek. “You’re an idiot if you don’t see that I feel the same way.”

“Well you’re an idiot for not showering,” Jackson said, stepping closer and crowding Stiles against the counter, “because if you had I would suggest rewarding you for almost finishing your book.”

It was Stiles’ turn to blush. “Does this mean we can make out now? Are we done thinking about feelings for the time being?”

“Yeah,” Jackson said leaning in and kissing Stiles hard. It was exactly like he had imagined it, biting and fierce, but somehow warm and soft at the same time. It was like Jackson himself; his exterior was all armor and spikes, but inside, he could be soft. 

When they broke apart, Stiles was sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around Jackson’s waist. “No, come back!”

“You smell awful,” Jackson said. “Go shower and we can continue this.”

“You could join me,” Stiles said cheekily, jumping off the counter when Jackson stepped back.

“Pass.”

“Fine, but I know you want me! You can’t deny that now,” Stiles said with a bright smile. “I know you like me and that you care about me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson said, slapping Stiles ass as he walked away. “I’ll be here; don’t leave me waiting.”

“And there’s the Jackson I know and love,” Stiles said, then froze. He hadn’t meant to say that yet. He looked at Jackson with wide eyes, hoping he hadn’t scared him away.

“I love you too, now go fucking shower,” Jackson said. Stiles could tell he was fighting back a smile. 

As he waited for the water to heat up Stiles let himself do a little dance. After years of pining and wanting Jackson, he finally had him, and maybe they would be awful together, maybe they’d yell and fight and make each other miserable, but Stiles had a feeling it would be the opposite. They might know how to push each other's buttons, but they also knew how to take care of one and other. It was all about balance with them, and they had learned that a long time ago. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](exhuastedpigeon.tumblr.com)


End file.
